


Because This Must Be

by Coop_Scoop



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Berlin lives, Blowjobs, Frottage, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, au berlin lives, denvers fucking laugh, handjobs, post s2 ep13, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coop_Scoop/pseuds/Coop_Scoop
Summary: He is staying. He knew he was going to die and the only way that this was going to work was if he stayed with his new wife. He had promised her that. Till death do they part, and it would be soon for him. No matter how Nairobi pulled at him and shouted he was staying. That was until he heard a voice he was sure he wouldn't hear again.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 10
Kudos: 107





	Because This Must Be

“Leave!” He shouted staring at Nairobi, he could see Helsinki with his arm wrapped around her waist. He had lifted her from the ground, her legs and arms swinging trying to get him to drop her. Screaming that he wasn’t being left here. He just looked at her, smiling. She could have become his next wife if they had met at another time. 

But here he was setting up the gun with a girl who he knew only let him fuck her because she thought it would keep her safe. How she had given herself over and while it repulsed him he was also not completely surprised. She still helped him load the gun before she got in place to shoot it. He tipped his head looking in complete confusion at this woman, he had said he would marry her. Although this change made him lose interest as quickly as she had gained it. He could see she was going to shoot holes through his chest if she got the chance. 

He never took the safety off. Looking at her. Watching the war in her eyes. Listening as gunshots rang out, heavy footsteps got closer and turned to look back at the vault. He maybe had enough time to get there. But each second here was a second less to freedom. But he also didn’t think he had anything to live for. 

His brother had found love. The others in the heist had done the same, whether it was platonic or deeply ingrained in their hearts. All he had was a wife that wished him dead and a life that could be cut short at any second. No matter what his brother had told him he had fixed for him on the outside. 

All he could do was get better. Live longer. But be completely alone. 

No matter how he had trusted his brother in this plan. He still had one regret. That day in the Monastery. Where he had left the one person that he trusted to see all sides of him, the one person who didn’t fault his never-dying need to be hopeful the next person he loved was it. The one person who saw the world as a better place because he was there. 

So he would die here. 

Feeling like he had achieved so much. Died doing what he loved. Hoping that this death while painful would be much swifter than the one in his future. Full of surgeries and medication. 

He flinched. There was a scuffle on the other end of the speaker in his ear. He would have pulled it off and thrown it so that his brother wouldn’t hear him die. But there were arms around his waist, big ones. Ones he had no hope of escaping. One he was sure had dragged Nairobi into the vault. 

Shoving at the arms and trying to slam his head back to hit his face, but only meeting a solid shoulder. He watched as he was dragged down the hole. Smelling the warm earthy air and being shoved down the way. They were going to die under here. The bombs were meant to go off in less time than they had to get out of there. He was sure of that. 

“Andrés.” His name was drawled, and he stumbled. Helsinki shoved him roughly and started pulling him down the passage. “Do hurry up. We all have places to be.” 

“Berlin. Get up the ladder we only have seconds before we blow up the tunnel.” Was shouted as Helsinki shoved him roughly up the ladder. He almost didn’t want to get out of the hole not ready to see the face of the man whose heart he had shattered, with only a few words from his brother. Although for him to be here, meant that either he hadn’t believed him and that look of heartbreak showed how good of an actor he was. Or after everything happened Sergio had gone and got him. 

Which in turn meant that he had seen everything he had done in this place. Be that fucking that pretty little thing or possibly being the cause of several issues with the plan. But now he definitely knew about everything. The tiny little secret he had hoped to never have let him know until he was dead and buried. Because even though he had been ready to die, he had been ready for it to be quick and painful. 

Seeing his face was going to be worse. 

He was pulled up and out by his armpits. His clothes being stripped off of him, but he wasn’t really seeing anything. Just listening as Sergio and Helsinki climbed into a truck, shouting about how they needed to go. He was numb. 

“Fucking Idiot.” Was shouted and a sharp sting flowed through his face. Nothing stopped him from sitting up and grabbing the worn denim, his eyes locking with them. He licked his lips and was pulled up, he was about to leave. 

An arm wrapped around his shoulder and a pair of glasses shoved over his face. Then he strolled out of the building, turning his body into Martín’s, looking like a couple out for a walk. He knew people would either stare or divert their eyes. They always did when they had walked like this before. 

Andrés could feel his hand shaking, but he knew for sure it was from all the days of adrenaline leaving his body. Fingers slipped through his but no words were said, they just had under an hour to reach the meeting point, which he had never bothered to remember as he hadn’t ever planned on leaving the bank. Alive. 

Moving through the streets, he saw people. Ones that were wearing red and protests had already begun, so soon after the whole plan had ended. 

He found himself sat in the back of a cab eventually, his face tucked into Martín’s who was muttering soft words; whilst also explaining to the driver that he had just heard of his mothers passing. He couldn’t stop the grin forming on his face, his teeth pressed against the jumping pulse in his neck. He could smell him so closely and deeply. 

The cab pulled into a street that had a few apartments in it, they clambered out; still trying to keep up the idea that he was upset and needed help getting into their home. 

The minute the car was gone, he started to walk. Fast. 

Nothing was like walking onto the boat and staring at all the people he had come to see as a family when he really thought about it. With only one being related to him by blood. He looked at them all; Denver with the newly named Stockholm by his side, she was pawing at his face. Trying to comfort him through the fact that he had left his father back there. 

Nairobi was holding Helsinki’s hand, whispering to him, trying to help him through his loss. Rio and Tokyo had disappeared within minutes and he had no want to hear them fucking, he had enough of that while staying in the house. He knew far too intimately what they both sounded like when they met that final soul-shattering point of orgasm. 

The only thing that seemed to have everyone’s eyes was Sergio, he looked forlorn and kept biting his lip like he was missing something. But one look at Martín, he got an eye roll and a look that said, ‘Your brother did something stupid and reckless.’ A simple eyebrow raise and he was sure he would get told later. 

It was an hour later and they were all below deck, going through how money was sorted. Eyes kept darting over to them, Tokyo was the worst. She was frowning unsure how this person who she had not seen do a thing was entitled to the money they had stolen. They all knew it would only take a minute for her to start something. 

“WHO IS HE!” She pointed right in his face, “WHY SHOULD HE GET WHAT WE EARNED!” Turning to look right at Sergio, “WE DON’T EVEN KNOW HIS NAME PROFESSOR! HE HAS JUST HUNG ALL OVER BERLIN!” Rounding on every other person in the area she tried to get them to back her up as they had before, but not a single one held her eyes bar Rio. 

He watched as his little brother stood, pulling his glasses off to wipe on the edge of his shirt. “His name is Palermo.” He slid his glasses up his nose, “I had him join when I realised how much I needed his skills for this to be pulled off with fewer deaths.” He locked his eyes on Tokyo. 

She sank down onto the crates they were all sitting on. 

Andrés listened for once, memorised the numbers on the board, felt the champagne start drying sticky to his skin. Watched as they all rejoiced at the fact they were truly free, but his eyes kept darting to Martín. Trying to think of a way to get him to talk to him, he had been sat talking with Nairobi and in turn Helsinki. 

Which he had to tell himself was just talking. Because jealousy wasn’t something he let himself feel around him, not even a little. Because when he used to chase away the men interested in more than just a one night stand, it was simply because he could not stand to see him as hurt as he had been the night they had met. He was only being a good friend, mush like he had got in return. 

He stood to go to their cabin, he wanted to know where they were going together. Where he and his brother could have possibly found that would make the last few years of his life worth it and comfortable. 

Laying on the bed. His body rocked with the waves and the noise of the water hitting the side made him start to fall asleep. But a slight shift and his hair tugged, sticky with dry champagne. He saw a sink in the corner and he knew it would have to do. 

Stripping out of the clothes, he looked at the cheap jumper and jeans, the day-old underwear and he could smell his skin. It smelt musky in the worst way and sweet from the alcohol. He pulled a small bucket that had been turned to take a seat, filled it and dug around a little. Finding a basic kit he could use to clean up, travel-sized everything. 

Washing was hard. Trying to not spill the water he had, not his head off the tap as he rinsed the shampoo out of his hair, only nicking the skin of his face twice as he shaved. Still, by the time he was clean, his hands were shaking and he needed to take his medication. The door was pushed open and he dropped the needle he had in his hand, eyes locked on his. 

The room felt quieter, smaller and he felt anxiety crawl up his throat. No one had seen him do this, but having Martín help him was the worst. Showed him how weak he was, not that he didn’t already know that. Especially after that night. 

Turning away, he watched the waves hit the small window in the cabin. Listened to him breathing, jumped when the needle sank into his flesh and grit his teeth at the burn it left under his skin. 

Talking seemed like the hardest thing to do. 

It should have been easy, this man was everything to him. 

He had watched him marry multiple women. 

Held him when he had been left. 

Drank with him when the divorce went through. 

And it was hard because he never lied to him before, but one night he had lied to him. Broken both their hearts. Left him. But never stopped thinking about him. 

A hand on his knee had him finally look at him. His eyes were more worried when he was sat there, than made sense. He had expected hate or complete indifference. But no. Hands moved up his legs, he followed them with his eyes, thumbs ran over far too prominent hip bone, over a concave stomach and harsh ribs. He was frail. If he hadn’t stopped loving him before, now would tip him over the edge. 

“The medication.” He muttered, trying to sound like it was just a matter of fact thing. “It makes me feel sick if I do eat and too sick to eat.” He waved his hand like he did when he didn’t want to talk. A hum. It was all he got as confirmation he had been heard and his explanation understood. 

Clothes were pulled on and the bed dipped as he sat down. Gritting his teeth he knew all he had to do was talk, tell him he was sorry and that he didn’t want it to be like this. 

Turning to look at him, he finally opened his mouth. “I didn’t want to leave you.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, “But Sergio convinced me it was for the best. But I can’t blame him for all this, I should have been less cruel in the end.” He placed a hand on his thigh. “I didn’t want to lie.” 

He heard the deep inhale watched as his chest swole. “I know. Your brother told me.” He finally locked eyes with him, “Well not that you lied. He may be smart, but he thought you were blind to how I looked at you.” Martín gripped his hand, “He had me come join this team as an outside eye a year ago, name included. Kept apologising, had him on his knees for me. Just not in the way I would have enjoyed.” 

Laughing. Andrés found himself laughing. He had missed this. Serious talks are undone because Martín could not stand them. 

Sitting going through the file they had been given, he saw his brother had planned even this. A home. A doctor. Even a clinic specialising in treatment for his disease. With attached files detailing how people much further into the disease had halted and even reversed the issues. It felt like his brother had planned this not just for it to be done but so that after he could live. 

His body swayed and he knew it was because all he had done was rest on three hours a night. So he moved to lay down on the bed, the gentle rock of the boat made him start to fall asleep. Then an arm wrapped around his waist, a face pressed into the back of his neck and the comforting warmth of a body curling it was through him. 

He felt something whispered into his neck, but what it was he couldn’t tell. Just felt the brush of lips saying words to silent to be known. And against his better judgement, he had to know what they were. So he shifted forward, the arms loosened around him, and turned over. 

Their eyes locked and Martín looked a little surprised at his decision to do so. His hands were firmly on his chest, gripping the soft fabric of the threadbare t-shirt in his fingers when he finally spoke. “Tell me what you said.” His voice soft, the slight worry he felt showing through. “Please.” He stopped the pet name on the tip of his tongue coming out. 

Blue eyes slipped shut. A shuddery breath was let out and the hand on his waist. It gripped tighter. Making him shiver slightly, which in turn made him open his eyes and lock right on him. Like nothing else in the world could take his eyes from that one place. “I said you were a coward.” His head turned slightly into the pillow, “But I still crave you.” Andrés found himself pulled closer, their chest touching and his face pressed into his shoulder. It was more intimate than when he had kissed him. 

He was going to go mad with these touches. Like that night didn’t still haunt him. That he could close his eyes and feel the phantom touch of his hands on him. Still taste him on his lips if he wished hard enough. 

“I still lied to you that night.” His voice was muffled by the t-shirt. “Told you I felt nothing. That we were only ninety-nine percent soulmates. That I wanted to leave you.” Turning his face, he opened his mouth and pressed a kiss to the skin he could reach. Just a brush of lips, but even that wasn’t enough. He needed just a taste. 

And he did. He tasted the salt on his skin, the bittersweet of the dried champagne and it had him intoxicated. His hands were fisted so tight they hurt, he could feel as the blood flowed south and made him start to swell in the loose boxers he wore. He used his teeth, the taste was fading but he still tried to chase it. Hands gripped him, one slid down cupping his ass through the flimsy material. 

Pulled closer, a thigh slipped between his and pressed up right away. 

Groaning, he opened his eyes and caught the look on Martín’s face. It was in awe. Like that night when he had walked him back into the wall. As though his dreams were coming true and he didn’t know what was going to happen nor what he was going to do. The look made his cock jump against the thigh pressed up against it. 

“Kiss me.” Was whispered, their lips almost brushing. “Please, Mi Amor.” 

But yet nothing happened, they just breathed in each others air. Hands moved. Fingers fisted in hair. Andrés moaned as Martín moved his thigh and tugged his head back. 

Teeth dragged along his neck, his hips jerked at the feeling. A hot mouth sucked on his skin, making shapes that would be seen for days and it did nothing more than make him moan. Try to get more friction from the leg between his. He wanted more. Wanted to feel the hard throb of their cocks pressed together, the wetness of the tip drag along the skin of his hip and hear the sound Martín would make when he came. Hear it loud and wet in his ear, while his hands pressed hard enough to bruise around his hips. 

He had this one moment of distraction, where his head was only just clear enough. 

Rolling onto his back, using his grip on the t-shirt, he had him on top of him. It was more weight than he was used to, but it was grounding. The feeling of being pressed down and covered by someone bigger, stronger and wanting to be there. 

Hands were on his thighs, pulling them up and out; so that Martín could settle between them, his mouth never moved from his neck. The feeling of his cock against his was delicious, hard and throbbing. And he had done that. 

“Fucking kiss me.” He hissed as their hips started to move against one another, the dry drag of skin against cloth. But still, he wasn’t kissed, not even when he tried to pull him down. He just used his arms to hold himself up and away from his lips, smirking down at him like it was some game. That he was going to control everything that happened. 

He was going to punch him. He was ready to punch him. 

Then he wasn’t. 

Because he was finally being kissed. Lips soft against his, defying the hard jerk of their hips together when he finally did. It took only a few drags of lips for him to finally feel his tongue of his, the drag of teeth against his lip and the way he seemed to know what would make him shake. 

Martín moved up, pulling his shirt over his head and then dragging his hands down his chest, fingers lingering over his erect nipples. So Andrés looked down between his thighs, saw the way their cocks strained against the material, dark spots forming where the heads pressed. His eyes kept going back to his cock, he didn’t just want to feel it against his hip. He needed to feel it in his hand. 

So he kissed him, drug his hand down between them. Slipped his fingers under the elastic and felt him. It was different from his own, thicker. But the skin was as soft and firm as he knew it would be, the angle too was difficult. He couldn’t quite get the rhythm right, he seemed to keep stuttering in his movements and no matter how much he dragged his thumb over the head, it wasn’t helping the movement of his hand. 

But the sounds surrounding them was making him hot everywhere. His thighs kept trying to pull tighter, with each pump of blood through him; his hand could barely move with how tight he had pressed them together. 

He fully stopped moving his hand and pulled away from his mouth when his hand moved, a finger running down his cleft, lingering on that one spot. It wasn’t a new feeling for him but it was the first time he had been touched there in years. He nodded frantically not even opening his eyes, he wanted to be touched by him where he could. 

Groaning as his spit slick fingers run up the leg of his boxers, he arched his back and shuddered when they rubbed gently against him. Putting pressure on him. His legs shook and his hips jerked up. He moved his hand out so it was now gripping at his hair, pulling roughly to get him to touch him more without trying to talk. He couldn’t do much more than moan and swallow. 

It only took one rough press of his fingers for him to finally cum. In his boxers with the loudest scream that had to be heard around the boat, even over the engine. But even as he came Martín kept touching him, fingers running over him and making his legs jerk out. It was torture but he wasn’t going to tell him to stop. 

But he still felt his hard cock pressed against his hip. 

He pushed him off, watched him lay on his back and think like this was all he was getting. Yet that wasn’t true. Andrés could only think of one thing and he was going to have it. 

So he moved. His face moving down to where he could see him leaking into his boxers. His fingers moved before he could think, pulling them down and there he was. Hard and painful-looking. Leaning o one elbow and grabbing him at the base he moved forward. Tongue reaching out to lick at the head. It was soft and salty, tangy really. Nothing like he had tasted before. 

He sucked it slowly in, hearing him suck in deep breaths and grab at the fabric of the bed. So he moved more, getting as much in before he gagged, he hated that noise but he could understand why people loved doing this. He could feel every twitch, hear when he did something just right. He was quick to work out that he liked the movement of his hand and mouth, to bring his hand up to meet his mouth as he lowered it. 

It was sloppy and he could feel the twinges of his cock wanting to get hard again. It wasn’t until his hand twisted in his hair and held him there that he knew he should get ready, he stayed still his mouth tight around him as he pumped his hips up twice before he pulled out. Cumming on his own stomach. 

Andrés wasn’t about to taste him, he knew it wouldn’t be great. 

They cleaned up using the now cold water and fell asleep under the blanket. Warm skin against each other, knowing that in a few days they would be in Tokyo. 

The morning brought teasing from mainly Denver, who had made jokes until he had got matching death glares from them both. But it had been broken the minute he had cackled at Sergio’s face when he spotted his brother. The day was odd, hugging each other and saying their goodbyes. While also hoping to never see each other again, a private plane was waiting for each of them. 

Andrés found himself staring out at the clouds, his hand in Martín’s and wondering how his brother had got him into a medical trial before getting the money.

**Author's Note:**

> I am here again, I wanted to write some cute fluff. A story which with its open ending would be BERLIN IS ALIVE AND FUCK THAT! 
> 
> Still think I don't write these two very well, but I am trying to learn how they talk and how to translate it into English. Because It sounds much better in Spanish. Sorry if it's really AU of them.


End file.
